


Opposite of Amnesia

by theLiterator



Series: Cisco/Wells not-quite-AU [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 24/7 D/s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Crying, D/s relationship, Dubious Consent, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Praise Kink, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing between them-- it works. Cisco has someone who will lie and tell him he's worth something, and Dr. Wells has a brilliant engineer. But in the end, the cost of being valued is extremely high. The question, then, becomes 'is it too high?'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposite of Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> So first of all, to all of my beta readers and my cheerleaders and my somewhere-in-betweens, thank you so, so much. You all know probably better than I'd like you to how much this fic wouldn't exist without you: [allourheroes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes), [foxyk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyk), [traxits](http://archiveofourown.org/users/traxits), [QuirkyGeek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QuirkyGeek), and everyone else who dragged this fic out of my brain, me kicking and screaming the whole time. You guys are the greatest.
> 
> Secondly, a huge shout out to my artist, [rantsofafangirl](http://rantsofoafangirl.tumblr.com). This is so perfect, and you were a pleasure to work with. Please, everyone give them a kind comment! I've set it up so the work embedded in my fic has a linkback, and I'll put a link at the end, too. They worked hard, so be sure to give them their due!
> 
> Third, thanks to the mods for throwing a great challenge. I hope to come back next year!
> 
> ETA 6 December 2015: THERE IS NOW A FANMIX, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. CHECK IT OUT! [Here is a link.](http://checkerboardom.tumblr.com/post/134691424735/opposite-of-amnesia-listen-1-kingdom-of) ENJOY!  
> Anyway, on to the fic. :D

> Every one of us is running. Being alive means running: running from something, running to something, or someone. And no matter how fast you are, there are some things you can’t outrun. Some things always manage to catch up to you.

[ ](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com)

Cisco shot straight up in bed, the remnants of the nightmare dissolving around him as his breath rushed through his lungs. 

"Cisco?" Dr. Wells asked, his hand warm and solid against Cisco’s back.

"I—" _You’re smart, Cisco, but you’re not that smart._

Cisco shrugged off the touch and lurched for the bathroom, making it to the toilet in the nick of time, and he heaved until his eyes were stinging with the exertion, but he couldn’t quite remember the dream, or… or any of it.

He pulled himself together in the stark white cleanliness of Dr. Wells’s bathroom, splashing his face with cold water and blinking until his vision cleared, until he could only see his face, too-pale and damp, and not the muddy traces of nightmare in the vanity mirror.

Dr. Wells was still awake, arm lax across the pristine white sheets of his bed, and Cisco felt the overwhelming terror of the nightmare again, so he shoved his hands through his hair.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to wake you up, sir."

Dr. Wells frowned. "Don’t apologize for dreaming. I’m sure you can ask Caitlin for confirmation later, but dreams are generally out of our control. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don’t remember it," Cisco said. "It was… bad. I don’t know. Sorry."

Dr. Wells pursed his lips. " _Don’t apologize_ ," he repeated firmly, and Cisco flushed, knowing he’d just disobeyed an order, but Dr. Wells just hauled himself back upright and reached for the bed railing, obviously ready to get up for the day.

"Why don’t you go fix us some coffee, Cisco," Dr. Wells said, and Cisco hurried to comply.

The routine of pouring the coffee into mugs and measuring out sugar, cream, and then a little cinnamon just like Dr. Wells preferred was settling, and there was a soft whir behind him as Dr. Wells entered the kitchen.

Dr. Wells pressed his hand to the small of Cisco’s back even as he leaned forward to take his mug, his eyes focused not on the hot beverage but on Cisco’s face.

Cisco blushed and looked down, prompting Dr. Wells to brush his thumb soothingly along his spine.

He could just barely see Dr. Wells at the edge of his vision as he blew on his coffee and took a sip.

"Perfect as always, Cisco," Dr. Wells said. "Well done."

Cisco sank to his knees and pressed his cheek against Dr, Wells’s knee. Dr. Wells handed him his own mug before burying a hand in Cisco’s hair, stroking softly.

"I shouldn’t have disobeyed," Cisco said quietly, staring at his coffee.

"No," Dr. Wells said, hand stilling. "You shouldn’t have. Drink your coffee, Cisco."

"Yes, sir," Cisco said, taking a sip. The coffee in Dr. Wells’s house was always a rich, exotic roast. The nights he stayed over were always wonderful, but that first morning, when Dr. Wells had told him he’d better have a cup or else he’d have a headache later, had been—

Perfect.

And the taste of Dr. Wells’s coffee always made him think of that, and he wasn’t stupid enough to disobey _twice_ in one morning, so he swallowed hard to loosen up the lump in his throat, then took a long sip.

As soon as he did, Dr. Wells went back to stroking his hair, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp, carefully tugging loose any tangles left over from sleeping.

By the time he’d finished his coffee, he had slipped back into that peculiar half-awareness where nothing seemed important outside of Dr. Wells’s hand in his hair, and his pleasure in the coffee (in Cisco). His breathing felt sluggish and lazy, and his mind had long since ceased its efforts to trace the pattern of the little black and white tiles of the kitchen floor.

Dr. Wells took his mug from him then and set it up on the counter with Cisco’s, then bent forward and pulled Cisco up so they were nearly eye to eye.

"It’s a simple rule, Cisco," Dr. Wells said. Cisco swallowed hard and nodded. "We only apologize for things we have control over."

Cisco nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And I told you there was no need to apologize, didn’t I?"

Cisco nodded and repeated the acknowledgement, and Dr. Wells cupped his jaw, squeezing it and shaking him very slightly.

"I can’t let that go unaddressed," Dr. Wells concluded, letting go after a moment.

Cisco sat back.

"Go to your corner, Cisco."

Cisco scrambled to obey, tripping over his feet in his rush to prove that he was still _good_ that earlier had just been a lapse, and got over to the corner, pressing his forehead to the plaster just as Dr. Wells turned on the sink.

 _Rinsing the mugs,_ Cisco thought, biting his tongue to keep from thinking _aloud_.

He tended to start saying anything that came into his head when he was nervous, and the corner didn’t make him _nervous_ , exactly, but it gave him a feeling of similar quality, like his skin not only fit him wrong, but also everyone on the planet could see it and was laughing about it.

 _Oh, Cisco,_ his imagination chortled. _That isn’t how you’re supposed to wear your skin!_

He shivered, and Dr. Wells moved into the foyer, opening the door to the outside.

 _Newspaper,_ he told himself firmly, silently. He wasn't letting someone in; Dr. Wells hated people intruding here, to the point that no one ever came here, no one except… him. And he was only here so long as he obeyed the rules and never told anyone he’d been invited.

He wondered if Hartley had ever come here—then quashed that line of thought like a bug, instead imagining taking the crossword from Dr. Wells when he was allowed to go back to the table, when he was allowed to _talk_ again.

Dr. Wells would have gotten all the stupid hard clues, but there’d be a couple of obscure pop culture references he wouldn’t have gotten, and Cisco could write them in, and Dr. Wells would—

Well, he couldn’t call Cisco _good_ exactly, could he? It was a simple rule, and Cisco was an idiot for forgetting, and for apologizing _twice_ , and what the hell was he thinking? Maybe Wells would just leave him here all day (he never had, and Cisco couldn’t be sure he’d _stay_ if Dr. Wells had tried) and he’d be stuck with the knowledge that he wasn’t even good enough for his _boss_ to…

To satisfy whatever weird kick Dr. Wells got out of this.

If Dr. Wells did come back, there’d probably be that chilling disappointment, and then he’d have to go to work, and then he’d have to pretend for Caitlin, and then—

"Cisco," Dr. Wells said.

Cisco jerked and slowed down his breathing as best he could.

"That isn’t what I sent you over there to think about," Dr. Wells said.

Cisco blinked rapidly, focusing on the feeling of his toes pressed against the tile, then his heels, and on up his legs. It was a meditation technique he’d learned a while ago, a good way to keep his thoughts from rushing in circles like that.

"Whatever happens, happens," he mumbled, then bit his tongue again.

Dr. Wells laughed, low and warm, and didn’t snap out the warning Cisco probably deserved.

All he could hear behind him were the faint rustlings of the newspaper and the slight whisper of fabric as Harrison—Dr. Wells, he corrected himself firmly—shifted, never comfortable in the same position for very long.

 _It’s stupid to apologize for stuff I can’t control,_ he reminded himself firmly. _So I shouldn’t, because I may not be some mad genius like Dr. Wells or Caitlin or_ Hartley Rathaway _, but I am pretty smart. Usually._

He had just gotten to his abdomen, cutting off thoughts whenever they swirled up by reminding himself not to apologize, when Dr. Wells sighed.

"Cisco, come over here."

Cisco wobbled a little as he made his way over to the head of the cheery little kitchen table that felt completely out of place in the ultra-modern kitchen.

"Mm," Dr. Wells intoned, hooking an arm around Cisco’s waist and pulling him in. Cisco automatically braced himself with one arm against the back of the wheelchair, and obligingly swung his leg around so Dr. Wells could pull him down into his lap.

Cisco leaned into his warmth and stopped thinking entirely for a few long moments. Dr. Wells didn’t pet him or play with his hair, just held him close for long enough that Cisco remembered that his skin wasn’t all wrong for him or for humanity, it was just… him.

"Now," Dr. Wells said, well after Cisco’s muscles had started protesting the position. "I’d like to finish my crossword, if you don’t mind."

"No, of course," Cisco said, drawing back slowly and blushing when Dr. Wells caught him to kiss his forehead before he’d stepped away. "What—do you want me to fix something?"

"If you can find something to fix, Cisco, you’re welcome to make whatever you like," Dr. Wells said. "But I doubt there’s anything worth making—"

Cisco had snuck out and scoped the fridge the night before, so he started pulling out little tupperwares of leftovers before turning to the pantry and pulling out a bag of—ugh, _wheat_ —tortillas and a glass jar of salsa.

Also less than ideal, but since his mother had absolutely no interest in sharing his grandmother’s recipes with him and not _perfect_ Dante, he probably couldn’t have done any better.

"This’ll probably suck," he warned, before turning on the stove and pouring oil in a pan to heat.

He tossed most of what he’d foraged into a saucepan and then dumped the whole jar of salsa in with it, setting it to simmer while he cut his tortillas up.

When he served it with a flourish, the weird adrenaline from the nightmare and the embarrassment from screwing up had all faded into a warm glow, and he clenched his fists in his pajama pants to keep from fidgeting as Dr. Wells took a bite.

"Mm," Dr. Wells said musingly around his mouthful. "I didn’t know I had this in my fridge."

Cisco shrugged. "It’s just leftovers."

"It’s _amazing,_ Cisco. You’ve outdone yourself, as always. Now sit down and eat."

Cisco did, and as soon as he’d finished his serving, the crossword was nudged under his arm and he took it and squinted down at the missing clues, biting his thumb in thought before groping for the pen so he could write in an answer.

Dr. Wells pressed it into his hand and laughed again, and Cisco grinned and blushed.

"What do you call that?"

"Breakfast," Cisco said immediately, biting his lip while he stared at the few remaining blank boxes. "Uh, that was more or less chilaquiles. More less than more; you’re supposed to make the salsa fresh, and use like, real vegetables."

"Regardless, it was amazing. I’m always proud to eat whatever you cook, Cisco."

Cisco nodded, then shook his head, forcing his concentration to remain on the page and not to remember his mother shooing him out of the kitchen, so completely convinced that if Dante couldn’t cook, then neither could he.

It didn’t work very well.

" _I_ am proud," Dr. Wells said again, and Cisco nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered, and Dr. Wells’s hand threaded carefully through his hair, keeping him firmly in the warm kitchen with the crossword with the only person in the world who knew how awful and stupid Cisco could be and still wanted him.

* * *

Cisco was missing. _Cisco_ was _missing._

Eobard had been mostly comfortable with the idea of Cisco out on his own, perhaps having fun, though the nightmare the morning before and the fact that he had gone home to _those people_ , his supposed family had left him worrying about his mental state.

He supposed he ought to be grateful to them for making Cisco so isolated, so easy to bring close without anyone commenting on it because _no one_ cared.

Instead, he wanted to kill them while Cisco watched, so Cisco would _know_ he was the more valuable of the whole lot of them.

When Barry had come in, shellshocked and bearing the news that Leonard Snart had taken _his_ boy, he’d twitched with the desire to find him, to take him _back_ , and that had been…

Difficult. Of course, with Hartley completely unavailable to him, Cisco was his only backup should any part of his primary plan fail.

Leonard Snart could not have him.

He’d comforted himself with the thought that Barry Allen, no matter his age, would not let a civilian be harmed, not on his behalf, and forced himself to approach the problem rationally, without succumbing to his anger.

When Cisco walked in, he was bruised where Snart had marked him, and Eobard wanted to seize the ice Barry had been using and drag him close, force him to try to reduce the swelling. Because Cisco couldn’t access the Speed Force, it would take a week or more for that black eye to heal, and that? That was unconscionable.

He’d known, too, that having marked him up, Snart was not stupid enough or careless enough to let a treasure like Cisco walk free, so he asked the question that neither Caitlin nor Barry cared about.

"How did you escape?"

"I didn’t," Cisco said, looking toward him but not _at_ him.

Instantly, Eobard began recalculating. Barry Allen’s identity was valuable, but it wasn’t any _more_ valuable to someone like Snart than Cisco’s weapon designs. What could Cisco have possibly offered him that was more valuable than an engineer who seemed to ignore what was considered impossible by modern physics’ understanding and defied conventional wisdom with his invention and ingenuity _every day_? And more importantly, had he staked a foothold in Cisco’s very soul, as Eobard had done? 

He pursed his lips and watched Cisco’s posture carefully, watched as Barry Allen wrapped him close and Cisco refused to believe he deserved it, and wondered.

If Snart truly believed that Barry Allen’s identity was more valuable than Cisco Ramon, then he was a short-sighted _fool_.

Eobard wondered how long it would take to reconstruct Cisco’s self-image to the point that he would continue to be useful, and he wondered if it might be easier to allow Caitlin or Barry to do it, but Caitlin was sending him significant glances as Cisco left the room, and he knew that _she_ would never forgive him if he stepped back and let them take the lead.

She thought she knew what was between them.

She was wrong.

"Don’t worry," Cisco told him even before he’d announced his presence; Cisco was normally wholly unaware of his environment, except when it came to Eobard, he thought smugly.

Eobard had come up with a rough strategy, of sorts, for handling Cisco, during the five minutes he’d had to think about it.

Between the triumph of Barry finally breaking the space-time barrier bringing the heady knowledge that his return home was imminent and Cisco’s disappearance and reappearance, he felt worn down in ways he hadn’t since fifteen years ago when he’d first lost his ability to access the Speed Force.

"Well, before you shuffle off forever," Eobard said, careful to keep his tone light, teasing, and warm, as if he were certain Cisco were playing some game, not actually leaving. "May I show you something?"

If Cisco actually left—

Well, there was nowhere the boy would think to go that Eobard wouldn’t find him, and keeping him by force was far less appealing than their current situation, but if it proved necessary, well.

He would always do the necessary thing, no matter how unpleasant.

The shudder that ran through Cisco as they entered the room with the forcefield generator was _palpable_ , and Eobard frowned, trying to decide if this was something he should have addressed sooner.

Had _this_ apparent failure truly affected Cisco that much? Or was something else at work? He remembered the night terror from yesterday morning, (had it truly been only yesterday?) and wondered what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

First, he thought, address the immediate problem. Then worry about everything else.

"Making a choice between two people you love is the hardest dilemma you will ever face," Eobard told him, and thought about the future, and about his plans which would force Cisco to make that choice again. He needed to be assured that Cisco would choose correctly, but—

Cisco had proven himself to be only human, and there was no way to assure that. Eobard would _have_ to set up contingencies for the boy in addition to the extant contingencies for his progenitor, the police detective.

Eobard very carefully resisted the urge to reach out and touch Cisco as he explained the many reasons why he was still useful, and good, and _loved_ , because he had to make certain this message went to Cisco’s head, and not to the part of him that Eobard had vulnerable and sweet in the bedroom.

"In many ways, you have shown me what it is like to have a son," Eobard told him solemnly, and there was another flinch, and now Eobard _knew_ that had nothing to do with the current conversation and tried to think back to when he’d started acting this way.

The nightmare.

The _time loop_.

The thought was ridiculous. It was… untenable. There was no possible way for Cisco Ramon to be sensitive to changes in the space-time continuum. Eobard _himself_ had no way to sense the changes outside of Gideon’s connection with her future servers, and even then, if something changed _so_ drastically that her basic software in the future was nothing like the incarnation Eobard had brought back with him…

Well.

He was out of luck.

Caitlin interrupted, and it was fortuitous in that it gave him an excuse to not reach out and hold Cisco until his emotions had settled to back within their preferred range, but still he sent Cisco a rueful smile. "Shall we?" he asked, even though he was, once again, assured of Cisco’s answer.

It would be ‘yes.’

It must always be ‘yes.’

He sent Cisco home alone by pleading exhaustion, and he sent Caitlin to smooth over the remnants of Barry’s brush with time travel, and then he took care of his own business.

Everything was finally falling into place, and soon he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

He would be _free_ , and he would go _home_.

***

"Hey, uh, Dr. Wells?" Cisco asked him. Eobard set down the tablet he’d been running figures on. The computing power in this century left a _lot_ to be desired, but he was making due where he could.

"Yes, Cisco?" Eobard replied, carefully folding his hands and composing himself to focus on Cisco and not the multitude of other things that were demanding his attention right that second. Cisco was one of the many important pieces of his final plan, and Eobard wasn’t entirely certain he had recovered the relationship satisfactorily in the moments following Cisco’s kidnapping.

"How’d you get all zen, earlier?" Cisco dropped eye contact and ducked his head. "I mean, nevermind."

Eobard noted with some satisfaction that Cisco did _not_ trail off into apologies. It was, by far, the most irritating part of the boy’s personality.

The first time he’d invited Cisco over, it had been a complete disaster, with Cisco falling over himself to apologize for not being adequate—as if Eobard could ever care about the _physical_ in the face of Cisco’s blinding intellect and ingenuity with anything that had moving parts.

He’d given up and sent him away, that first time, and re-considered his approach while going through the files he’d accumulated about him before deciding to hire him for his project.

The next day, though—that had been _perfect._

> "Mr. Ramon, step into my office for a moment," Eobard said, beckoning to the boy from behind his desk. As Cisco entered the room, he circled around the desk to lean against it.
> 
> "Uh, sure thing, boss," Cisco said, trepidation sliding across his normally-cheerful face. Eobard smiled blandly at him.
> 
> "Lock the door behind you, please," Eobard added, and Cisco was visibly shaking when he moved to comply. "Thank you."
> 
> When Cisco made eye contact again after that, his lashes were wet and shining with unshed tears, and Eobard thought how _easy_ it would be to tie him close enough that nothing could shake his loyalty. How _pleasant_ it would be.
> 
> "Look, sir, about last night. I mean, I was flattered and all, and I know I disappointed—"
> 
> "Cisco, please," Eobard said. "Have a seat." Cisco sat, folding his hands nervously in his lap. "You void warranties?" he asked, noting Cisco’s t-shirt.
> 
> "Sorry," Cisco concluded mulishly.
> 
> "I happen to _like_ your t-shirts. You know there is currently a betting pool for when you have to wear one a second time? I don’t suppose you’d give me a hint on that. I would hate for Hartley to take the pot."
> 
> "What?" Cisco looked at him again, body language slightly easier, and Eobard stretched, leaning back against his desk.
> 
> "Or Ronnie and Caitlin. I’m sure they’d like the spending money for their honeymoon."
> 
> "There is no way the pot is that big," Cisco said, smiling incredulously and shaking his head.
> 
> "You’d be surprised," Eobard said. "But you wanted to talk about last night—"
> 
> "Please don’t fire me!" Cisco blurted. "I was gonna sign a lease tomorrow, and I’ve _got_ to move out from my parents’ place. You don’t know what it’s _like_."
> 
> "Cisco, firing you for failing to successfully engage in an intimate relationship with me is illegal, and I wouldn’t do it even if it weren’t. Especially since I think this can work, if we set up some ground rules."
> 
> That got his attention. "Rules? Like—like what? Because I don’t—that doesn’t sound. Uh. It doesn’t sound great, you know?"
> 
> "Hmm. Why not? Every relationship, whether sexual or platonic or on some scale in between, is based on communication. Rules would facilitate that."
> 
> "I dunno, it’s just usually people only want rules so that I’ll let them tie me up. And beat me. I don’t… want that, sir. No offense."
> 
> Eobard smiled and shook his head. "No, Cisco. I don’t want to hurt you—and you can make that one of your rules, if you’d like." Pain was messy anyway. Much cleaner to tie him close with pleasure. With _praise_ ; if home was so bad for him, Eobard would give him a new home, one where his genius was treated as it was due.
> 
> Cisco would certainly prove more suitable than Hartley, though jealousy might become a problem.
> 
> "But if that’s your rule, then I get one next—don’t apologize for things that are out of your control. It’s irritating at _best_ and... it limits you. Your _creativity,_ Cisco, is boundless, except that you hem it in by second-guessing yourself and apologizing. I refuse to be party to that."
> 
> Cisco scowled. "That’s ridiculous. I mean, I’m pretty sure I don’t apologize for anything that’s not in my control. I’m not _stupid_." The last was said so defensively that Eobard wanted to jump up and cheer.
> 
> "No. You’re not," Eobard said firmly, refusing to drop Cisco’s gaze. "You are exceedingly clever, Cisco Ramon, and I expect great things from you. But we can make that an addendum. _I_ get to decide what you are allowed to apologize for."
> 
> Cisco flushed a warm, dusky pink at the praise, and Eobard leaned forward so he could touch his shoulder. "This is... that’s crazy. You just want— _that’s_ what you want?" Despite his skepticism, Cisco was leaning into the touch.
> 
> "Among other things," Eobard said, low-voiced and smirking. Cisco went redder.
> 
> "Well, yeah. I mean. That’s a given, or I thought it was. Was that not a given? Did I—I’m really confused right now, I’m sorry."
> 
> "If I’m causing you confusion," Eobard said carefully, "Then it’s hardly anything _you_ have control over."
> 
> Cisco ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "If you say so," he mumbled.
> 
> "I do," Eobard said, supremely confident. "And that brings us to our second rule. You have to listen to me, and you have to _trust_ me, and you have to—" he could _taste_ the next word, but if he was _wrong_...
> 
> Hartley Rathaway was so utterly unsuited to his purposes as to be laughable, and he did not yet know exactly how far he could push Cisco and still keep him.
> 
> "Obey?" Cisco nodded, still staring at his knees. "But no—no pain. You said you didn’t want that."
> 
> "I find it inelegant," Eobard said. "Others don’t." He shrugged. "We’ll figure something out that works, though."
> 
> He licked his lips, because third, third came the _lie_. "The third rule is that you may always leave. In fact, given our age difference, I encourage it. If you need space, you leave for an hour, a day, a week. If you need a peer closer to your age for lovemaking or emotional fulfillment, you pursue them."
> 
> That dragged Cisco’s gaze up to meet his again. "I will not cage you, Mr. Ramon," he whispered, and Cisco leaned forward. "You have my word." Cisco shivered all over, and Eobard bent to kiss him chastely, to seal the bargain.
> 
> "You’re dismissed, Mr. Ramon, though I would appreciate it if you and I could finish this conversation at my home. Tonight. Again. With no apologies, please."
> 
> "Yeah, of course. Thanks, Dr. Wells." Cisco stood up in a hurry, and Eobard could _almost_ feel the Speed Force in his skin as he dodged just in time to keep their heads from smacking together. "You won’t regret this, I swear you won’t."
> 
> _I couldn’t possibly,_ Eobard thought, smiling at Cisco’s hasty retreat. Excitement put a bounce in his step that was appealing on a visceral level, and Eobard planned to enjoy every second of this seduction. Cisco was very sweet, after all.

"I don’t recall being ‘zen,’ as you call it," Eobard temporized, linking his fingers with Cisco’s and smiling ruefully. "I was just as panicked as everyone else. A kinetic sensor? Barry might have _died_." 

"Yeah, you just. Didn’t seem panicked, you know?" Cisco said, and he was smiling back. Eobard brought their joined hands to his lips to kiss Cisco’s knuckles, and Cisco’s smile went soft and warm and shy and perfect.

"Do not mistake my decades of experience at hiding my panic in the face of danger for lack of fear, Mr. Ramon," Eobard said.

"Point taken, Mr. Old Guy," Cisco said, the slightest of giggles chasing his words and causing Eobard to jerk on their joined hands so Cisco fell across his lap. 

"I am not _old_ ," Eobard growled, and Cisco started laughing outright, rearranging his limbs so neither of them were uncomfortable in the damned wheelchair. He regretted its continued necessity. "I am _wise_."

"Sure, sure," Cisco said, leaning up in his usual ‘begging to be kissed’ pose, and Eobard obliged him, glad the subject had been dropped.

* * *

"Okay, so Joe invited me to go to Starling City with him," Cisco said, bursting through the door. "But I don’t know if it’s a good idea, I mean, these meta-humans just seem to keep getting crazier and—"

"So how was karaoke, Cisco," Dr. Wells interrupted him, smiling warmly. Cisco grinned back reflexively, then frowned.

"That bad, huh? Why don’t you fix us some tea and tell me about it?" Dr. Wells gestured toward the kitchen, and Cisco wondered whether his nightmares could really be… true. It was probably stress, no matter what he’d told Caitlin and the others.

"Uh," Cisco said. "I mean, yes, sir. I’ll get right on that." He rushed into the kitchen and wondered if he was going to end up blurting out the _truth_ here, but it was—if it _was_ true, and Dr. Wells was the Reverse Flash, then telling him could get everyone killed.

But if he wasn’t, that meant they were keeping one of their most valuable players out of the loop, and that meant they weren’t actually going to be able to figure this out.

He’d been so sure the nightmares were real two hours ago, but now it seemed stupid.

The kettle filled and heating on the stove, he turned to see Dr. Wells watching him, looking relaxed and pleased.

"Karaoke with Caitlin has never gotten you this tense before," Dr. Wells said, moving closer. Cisco took a step back. "Let me guess. The nightmare again?"

"I—yeah. It’s—intense," Cisco said, dropping his gaze.

"Any details? Or still just the emotions."

"I… nothing," Cisco lied, feeling extremely uncomfortable with it.

"That’s too bad," Dr. Wells said. "If there were some way to identify what was triggering them, we might work on ways to avoid them."

"Yeah," Cisco said. The kettle started whistling, so he turned back to it, pulling it off the heat and carefully setting the teapot to steep, then a timer for the tea. He took the pot and two cups over to the table, and then hovered, hesitating.

"Come here, Cisco," Dr. Wells said, his hand closing gently around Cisco’s wrist and pulling him close. "It will be okay," he said. "I am sure of it."

Cisco let himself be drawn to Dr. Wells’s side, then sank to the floor beside him, immediately relaxing when Dr. Wells started petting him.

"If you say so," Cisco said.

Dr. Wells chuckled and pulled Cisco’s head down against his thigh, and Cisco sighed. "I do say so, Cisco. So, Starling City?"

"Yeah, Joe’s got… a case or something, and Caitlin has some sort of live tissue… thing, which she can’t leave. And Eddie and Joe think Barry should stay just in case, so… me?"

"You sound so enthused," Har- Dr. Wells murmured. The timer chimed, and Cisco could hear the clink of porcelain as Dr. Wells poured the tea. He put up a hand for his cup, and it was pressed into his palm.

He waited for Dr. Wells’s swallow, his, "Perfect, Cisco," and the weird lump that formed in his throat _every_ time to subside before he took a sip of his own.

It was just tea, but he was supposed to listen to Dr. Wells when he told him something was praiseworthy and when something was worthy of apologizing for, so he didn’t say anything, just tried to find that warm, loose place where he could believe everything Dr. Wells said.

"So karaoke and a nightmare led to… Joe inviting you to go to Starling City with him for lack of a better option," Dr. Wells said. "Or because you are in fact the best choice for the job—you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite take your word for how valueless you seem to think yourself."

Cisco blushed and rolled his head up to look at Dr. Wells, but he didn’t have anything but affection on his face, and Cisco sighed and relaxed further. "There," Dr. Wells said quietly, his hand tightening in Cisco’s hair for a moment, then stroking again. "Good boy."

"So you’re going to Starling City with Joe," Dr. Wells said. "Have fun. You should visit the beach while you’re there. I used to quite enjoy the ocean, with—when I was there."

"Only if it’s okay with you," Cisco said, rubbing his cheek against Dr. Wells’s leg.

"I have told you many times that you are always welcome to come and go," Dr. Wells said. "Drink your tea, and then we’ll go get ready for bed."

Dr. Wells bent so that his voice was a breath in Cisco’s ear: "I want you naked, Cisco Ramon. Especially if I am to be deprived of your company for any length of time."

Cisco shivered, and smiled as he drank his tea.

Tomorrow, he’d figure out whether his dreams were just dreams, or if Dr. Wells really was the Reverse Flash. Tonight, he didn’t have to worry about that. Not while Dr. Wells was treating him like he might be worth something.

In Dr. Wells’s house, he didn’t have to worry about anything at all.

* * *

"So," Joe said once they were on the highway and Cisco had re-wired the central console of the car so he could connect it to his phone. He mostly just hoped it wouldn’t suddenly gain sentience and attack Central City, though he wisely didn’t open with that. Undoubtedly, there was some classic film Cisco had seen that had that exact plot.

Besides, he had a more pressing concern. "How long has Dr. Wells been taking advantage of you, Cisco?"

Cisco jerked and Joe could feel his gaze on the side of his face for long seconds. Joe didn’t risk glancing back at the kid and giving the game away.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Cisco said, folding his hands nervously in his lap. "Dr. Wells may very well be the guy who killed Barry’s mom."

"Uh huh," Joe said, letting scepticism drip through his tone. Cisco started flipping through music so quickly that Joe took the phone from his hands and set it up on the dash. "One at a time, please. Look, I’m a detective, and I’ve raised two kids; there’s no real reason to pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. I can read you like an open book, Cisco."

Cisco shook his head and tentatively grabbed his phone back, though he didn’t go back to flipping through songs. 

"If you’re worried about your job, I happen to know that the CCPD would love a mechanical engineer of your caliber on their side," Joe said, testing the waters. He wasn’t sure how close he could get to outright accusations of abuse without alienating the kid at this point; it was only a very firm suspicion, after all.

"He wouldn’t fire me for that, it’s _illegal_ ," Cisco said defensively. He had a nervous habit of running his hands through his hair, and when he did it this time, Joe could see the bruise that had started him on this line of questioning in the first place. "I mean, he may be a bad guy, but he’s not... you know… Snart."

Joe froze. "Did something happen with Snart? It’s okay, you know, to talk about it. I’m here, or Barry and Caitlin…" he trailed off, wondering how the _hell_ he’d missed that.

"What? No. That’s ridiculous, you’re being—what would Snart want with a guy like _me_?" A quick glance revealed that Cisco was biting his lip hard enough to turn it white, but whether it was frustration or shame…

"Well, I don’t know about the _guy_ part, but Cisco, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re loyal—you’ve got a lot going for you, you know that, right?" Joe reached over to pat Cisco’s knee reassuringly, and Cisco jerked away violently enough that Joe had to avert the gesture and fiddle with the air conditioning controls.

The silence lasted for several miles of empty highway.

"Yeah, I mean—What do you think I should do, if Dr. Wells really is the Reverse Flash?" Joe sighed, but he let the subject change go—they had another nine hours before Cisco was no longer a captive audience, and even then, they had the whole return trip, too.

"I thought you said you’d been having those dreams," Joe said. "You’re not convinced?"

"It’s all pretty unbelievable, isn’t it? But Caitlin won’t help for just your say so and… and what if you’re right? What—what then?"

Joe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying any of what he wanted to about _that_ ; like, if Dr. Wells really was sleeping with Cisco, he was almost definitely worthy of suspicion _regardless_ of his identity as the the Reverse-Flash.

"We’ll figure this out, Cisco, I promise." Joe smiled as reassuringly as he could at him. "Everything’s going to be fine. First, we have to check out Starling City, then we’ll worry about what to do. Like you said—maybe we’re wrong, and we can all pretend this never happened."

"You don’t think we’re wrong though," Cisco said quietly. "And… I don’t want to be right, but I don’t think you’re wrong either."

Joe wanted desperately to offer him some comfort, but he knew it wouldn’t be welcomed, and he wondered how, after all these months of working closely with him, he had never noticed how completely closed off Cisco Ramon was.

***

Cisco was drinking the slushy Joe had bought him at the gas station with extreme wariness.

Joe sighed and wondered how the hell he’d managed to fuck this up so completely. He had kids; he’d mentored countless nervous rookies straight out of the academy. He knew what he was doing, or at least he was supposed to.

"So, does Dr. Wells know about your dreams?"

"Uh, well, I mean, he knows I haven’t been sleeping well, I guess," Cisco said, staring at his phone and sucking on his straw. Joe wondered how it was the kid hadn’t run out of battery yet, but it didn’t matter. He could be patient.

"Does he," Joe said blandly.

"I didn’t tell him _what_ I was dreaming, okay, I’m not stupid, but _he’s_ not either, okay, it doesn’t take a lot to figure out if someone’s having trouble sleeping."

"Of course not," Joe soothed. "What do you think he would say if he knew?"

"He’d probably have eight theories why and then he’d probably call someone he knows who’s like, the world’s greatest psychotherapist so I could talk to _them_ , and then he’d probably say he’d have to have an extremely good reason to murder me and currently he can’t postulate what might happen that would be a good enough reason, so not to worry."

"And that doesn’t strike you as… suspicious?"

"What?" Cisco demanded. "I already told you, I think he’s pretty suspicious! I’m with _you_ , aren’t I? I _lied_ and told him I’d really gone to karaoke last night, okay, I’m _suspicious._ "

"When did you talk to him about last night?" Joe asked, fingers crossed in hopes that Cisco would just _admit_ it, and then they could have this conversation _properly_.

Cisco took a long enough sip of his slushy that he hit a pocket of air and the noise echoed obnoxiously in the car.

"I like to actually ask permission before I disappear from work for a few days. Is that a _crime_ now, officer?"

"Well, no," Joe said slowly. He knew when to drop a subject though, and leaned forward to turn up the radio.

***

"I don’t want to talk about it," Cisco said as soon as Joe looked at him on the way back to Central City, the corpse carefully situated in the back of the van.

"Okay," Joe said. "But you have my number if you need it."

Cisco ignored him and pulled out his phone.

* * *

Cisco woke up from the nightmare yet again and Eobard reached for him, feeling the way he trembled even as he curled into the touch. "Shh," Eobard soothed him, running his hand through Cisco’s hair and wondering why he couldn’t think of a single way to _fix_ this.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, and Cisco rolled over and hid his face against Eobard’s chest.

He didn’t apologize, and Eobard almost wished he _would_ because that was something he had a plan for.

"You wouldn’t kill me," Cisco said. "Would you?"

Eobard wondered if this meant Cisco was planning on giving up the secret. He had been surprised Cisco had told _them_ , considering how closely his boy liked to hold his cards.

"I’d have to have an extremely driving reason to kill you, Cisco," Eobard promised him; it was worrying, knowing that he _had_ done so in the alternate timeline; he still needed Cisco’s mechanical genius on his side.

And he hadn’t lost him, despite Barry and the others trying their best to steal him away. He smiled at the top of Cisco’s head.

"I thought so," Cisco whispered into Eobard’s skin, and Eobard tugged on his hair.

"Come up here and kiss me, Cisco," he ordered, and Cisco complied. This close, Eobard could see the crystal drops of tears clumped on Cisco’s eyelashes, and once Cisco pulled back for breath, he tipped them both so he could kiss them away.

They tasted of salt and warmth, and Eobard kept them there for long, heavy moments.

"Get the lubricant, Cisco," Eobard said, and Cisco shivered all over, but heat had replaced the horror in his expression, which pleased Eobard.

Fucking Cisco, in the aftermath of the accelerator explosion, was an exercise in self control.

Still, he wasn’t quite ready to cement his identity in the mind of Cisco Ramon, so he gently urged Cisco up so he could reach between his legs and work him open with his fingers, not letting his legs so much as _twitch_ with anticipation.

Cisco’s face was expressive, so when he was like this, hot around Eobard’s fingers, panting and glassy-eyed, he was nothing short of _beautiful_ , a thought which wasn’t really suited to what Eobard truly needed him for (it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been ugly or if he’d never relaxed even during intercourse, so long as Eobard could wind him close easily.) but it was true nonetheless.

"Perfect," he murmured, "So perfect, and all mine."

Cisco groaned, a long, drawn out noise made up of senseless syllables, and Eobard twitched his fingers the way that he knew would completely overwhelm his boy, and then he pulled his hand back.

"Come here, Cisco," he said.

"‘Kay," Cisco mumbled, blinking hard. He planted a hand in the center of Eobard’s chest as he moved to straddle his hips, and Eobard licked his lips and let his eyes slip closed in anticipation of Cisco sinking down on top of him, and then—

Oh, it was impossible _not_ to thrust, an exercise in _agony_ , but… not yet—

Not yet.

He breathed heavily and opened his eyes to see Cisco’s gaze locked on his face, his lip tucked prettily between his teeth.

"Good boy," Eobard told him, meaning it. "So good."

Cisco drew himself up and then dropped back down, riding him shallowly, and Eobard reached for his hips, digging his fingers in and adjusting the angle, adjusting the speed, and Cisco bent down to kiss him, which changed _everything_ and Eobard gasped.

"Cisco, darling, my boy, mine," Eobard chanted, and Cisco kept going, even as he leaned in, demanding to be kissed with his expression, so Eobard wrenched one hand free and used it to pull Cisco the last few inches, nails digging into his scalp.

"Yours," Cisco whispered against his lips, and Eobard knew from the warmth on his cheeks that Cisco was crying again, and _that_ made Eobard forget, made him thrust up inside him _hard_ like he had before he’d detonated the particle accelerator, and Cisco dropped his head to Eobard’s shoulder and shuddered, and Eobard fucked him because Cisco _was_ his, and he was _certain_ now.

It was nice to finally feel like he was winning.

After, he held Cisco carefully in the circle of his arms, and Cisco panted against his chest until he caught his breath. "We’ve got to get ready for work," he said after a few moments.

"Yes," Eobard agreed, and he wondered if he’d imagined Cisco’s awareness, Cisco’s acquiescence.

But no; Cisco was too clever by far—too smart to miss something so important as Eobard having the use of his hips. He was simply refusing to acknowledge it.

That was okay, Eobard had a plan for that too.

* * *

Cisco came to in the one of the deepest parts of the pipeline, and he sat up to get a better idea of his surroundings.

"Dr. Wells—or, whoever he really is—left," Eddie Thawne rasped.

Cisco shivered slightly. "So, let me guess; chained up in a basement wasn’t exactly high on your list of things to do this evening?"

"I was proposing to Iris," Eddie said.

Cisco winced. "Ouch."

He was on an air mattress, and his foot was chained to the floor about three feet away. "Huh," he said.

"I’m trying really hard not to be weirded out by the fact that you got a bed with sheets and I am in a really uncomfortable chair."

"Will it help if I tell you they’re silk sheets?"

Eddie frowned at him. "That’s disturbing."

Cisco ran his hands over the mattress and frowned. "I mean, they’re my sheets," Cisco said. "Like, not mine, but. I picked them out; he made me."

"Before or after he kidnapped you?" Eddie asked.

Cisco frowned. "Does it matter?"

"I—you would think it doesn’t, but kinda, yeah," Eddie said.

"Uh, before. We were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for throw pillows, and then out of nowhere he asked me whether I liked a set of sheets, and when I said no, he made me pick some out."

"Okay, yes. Very disturbing. Cisco, how long have you been sleeping with the crazy future guy?" Eddie had the exact same expression on his face that Joe had had in the car a few days ago, and Cisco leaned back like that would help.

"What?" he demanded. "I have no idea what you mean!"

"Cisco, do you know who _I_ shop for throw pillows with?"

"Uh, Iris, probably," Cisco answered, hoping to keep Eddie talking so he didn’t have to _think_.

"Yes. Iris. Because Iris is my soon-to-be-fiancée," Eddie said. "And it’s _normal_ for couples to shop for housewares together. So either you were out with your boss picking out housewares, or you really are sleeping with him. _Joe_ thinks you’re sleeping with him, and Joe’s got a lot of experience observing these things, so, I’m going to go along with his reasoning."

"You don’t understand," Cisco snarled, jerking his knees up so he could wrap his arms around them and glare at Eddie. "He wasn’t _evil_."

"He’s your _boss_. That’s usually frowned on by most HR departments, and it turns out he _is_ evil, so… Cisco, why didn’t you _say_ something."

"It never came up," Cisco said.

"Oh? Not even when we started investigating him as the primary suspect in Nora Allen’s murder? It didn’t seem germane to say, oh, by the way, I’m sleeping with him?" Eddie looked extremely skeptical. "Because suddenly the fact that you got a bed when I got a chair seems a lot more suspicious than creepy."

"I’m chained up, just like you are," Cisco said. "And I’m a lot less of a physical threat, so don’t even start on how it’s just my foot or whatever. You’re a police officer. I’m—"

A loud clanging noise overhead preceded the appearance of Dr. Wells’s legs, perfectly functioning.

Cisco shook his head. "I’m just an engineer and I didn’t know what to _do_ , I’m _sorry_ , okay?"

Dr. Wells set down a plate of stir fry from Cisco’s favorite Asian place, and a bottle of water, just in front of the mattress. "Were you apologizing for being an engineer or for being kidnapped?" he asked, voice a warm, familiar tone.

"Uh, the kidnapping, I guess?" Cisco said, staring at the food.

"And did you have any control over who I chose to kidnap, or, indeed, the fact that I kidnapped anyone at all?"

"Are you really—are you the Reverse Flash?" Cisco asked.

"Yes," Dr. Wells, or _not_ Dr. Wells, he guessed, said.

"Then no, I’d guess I didn’t? Unless you kidnapped Eddie because of me, but I can’t think of any reason why you’d—"

"I did not, in fact, kidnap Eddie because of you. Nor did I kidnap you both for the same reasons, of that you can be assured, Cisco. So, did you have any control over the situation for which you are apologizing?"

"No," Cisco snapped. "I have absolutely no control. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes," Dr. Wells said warmly. "But you broke a rule."

Cisco flinched.

"And that means you need to be punished," he said, crouching down to stroke Cisco’s hair. Cisco made a noise in the back of his throat and shook his head.

"You’re very clever, Cisco," Dr. Wells said, and despite himself, despite _everything_ , he leaned into the touch. "Surely you aren’t surprised."

Cisco shut his eyes. "No, sir."

"Good boy," Dr. Wells said, and it still made him feel warm and soft and loose inside his head. "Now, we don’t have a corner, but I think that support column will work just fine, won’t it?"

"I can’t—" Cisco said, glancing at Eddie.

"Hmm," Dr. Wells replied. "Well, I think you _can_."

Cisco looked back at Dr. Wells, only he couldn’t read his expression. He shivered. Worse than waking up chained in an access tunnel under the particle accelerator, was not being able to read his—Dr. Wells. He shifted so he could stand up, and the chain around his ankle clinked.

"You said—you told me I could always leave," Cisco said, blinking hard to keep from crying like a stupid baby in front of Eddie.

"I lied, Cisco Ramon," Dr. Wells-who-had-never-been-Dr. Wells said.

"Oh, God," Cisco said, suppressing the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose up at that. "I can’t—Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want very badly to go home, and _you_ are going to help me." Dr. Wells bent to kiss his forehead, and Cisco gasped out a sob.

"Fine," he said. "I promise, okay? I won’t—I won’t run away. Is that what you want?"

"That’s my very good, very clever boy," Dr. Wells said, and Cisco nodded at the praise, feeling it send spikes of warmth and pleasure through him, even though he wanted to scream or throw up or… or run away.

Dr. Wells helped _him_ to his feet for the first time in over a year, and he guided him to the support beam, and Cisco pressed his forehead to the cold concrete and shut his eyes, trying to pretend it was the plaster of the wall in the kitchen, and that Dr. Wells was making tea or reading the newspaper or working just behind him.

Well, the last one was true, if the sounds of metal being tinkered with were any indication.

"What the hell?" Eddie demanded.

"Cisco Ramon is a very lonely creature." Dr. Wells said, "He craves both attention and praise. It is hardly my fault I’m the only person in the world who sees him as worthy of both."

"Hey, we think he’s… he _is_ worthy, okay?" Eddie sounded confused, and Cisco was burning with humiliation at the way he was being discussed, but he wasn’t supposed to talk when he was in the corner, so he bit his lip against saying anything.

"Do you really think so? Then why don’t you pay him any attention? For instance, I have it on good authority that over the past two years or so, he’s been engaging in a physical relationship with his boss—which you seem to find distasteful and inappropriate—yet you’ve only figured this out today, in the face of kidnapping. If you pay him so much attention, then you would have noticed it sooner, wouldn’t you, Detective?"

"That’s not fair!" Eddie snapped. "There have been other things going on—"

"Fine, but what about Barry? Dr. Snow? They haven’t noticed either. I am the _only_ person who cares about Cisco, and that is a _fact_."

"That’s all twisted up; we all care about Cisco!"

"When was the last time anyone other than me told him he did a good job, Detective Thawne?" Dr. Wells asked. Cisco suppressed another sob and blinked rapidly, trying to remember for himself.

"Cisco?"

"I—I don’t know, sir," Cisco replied.

"Was it after they forced you to relive that nightmare?" Dr. Wells crooned. "Did anyone hold you, and tell you how well you’d done, how perfect you are?"

"No, sir," Cisco whispered.

"Come here, Cisco," Dr. Wells said. Cisco pried himself from the cool sanctuary of the pillar and went to stand next to Dr. Wells, who pulled him in against his shoulder and stroked his hair. "Reliving that dream was very brave of you, Cisco Ramon, and I’m proud of you for doing it."

"This is _sick_!" Eddie snapped. "Cisco, you know we love you, you have to!"

"They don’t," Dr. Wells murmured in his ear. "They love _Barry Allen_. I, on the other hand, hate him, don’t you see?"

"Is that why you killed Nora?" Cisco asked.

"Nora’s death was a gross miscalculation on my part, one which I will hopefully soon make up for," Dr. Wells said.

"And what about mine?" Cisco asked, voice small.

"I’ve been considering that. I think it was perhaps a simple matter of timing. In the original version of that day, I had not yet discovered that Barry could break the space-time continuum, and I was therefore not yet ready to enact my plans. But now—"

"I can help you," Cisco said, for the first time in this timeline. "Please."

"You are very, very clever, Cisco Ramon," Dr. Wells said in his most pleased tone of voice.

Cisco sank to his knees, and Dr. Wells’s hand lay against the top of his head, like he _was_ needed.

***

"Okay," Cisco said, setting his soldering iron down in its cradle. "So just to be clear, you won’t actually kill any of the meta-humans with this?"

"Cisco, my plan doesn’t involve them at all," Dr. Thawne said, coming to stand next to Cisco and examine his work. "I wish I could have told you sooner; repairing the pipeline alone has been—" he bent to kiss Cisco’s temple, "Tedious."

"Oh," Cisco said. "Well."

"Not anymore though. I have spectacular company. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have business to take care of." Dr. Thawne tilted Cisco’s face up for a searing kiss, and then he went back up to the ladder.

"So," Eddie said once the hatch clanged shut above them. "What’s the plan?"

"Plan?" Cisco said. "This is the key to turning on the accelerator; just like he said."

"No," Eddie said, dragging the syllable out. "For escaping. What’s your plan for escaping?"

"I’m—I can’t leave," Cisco said, using tweezers to position a filament.

"Cisco, _please_. You’ve got that soldering iron, and there’s all sorts of other tools here. You can get yourself free, at least."

Cisco hefted the soldering iron in his hands. It wasn’t really for cutting through metal.

"I don’t know what kind of steel he used for the chain," Cisco said. "You don’t understand, I have never successfully picked a lock in my _life_ and this thing only heats up to around 300 degrees, and the melting point of steel is like, five times that. I’d burn half my foot off before I’d get anywhere near the kind of heat needed to break these chains."

Eddie stared at him and nodded a little. "Okay. Okay. Except I have a confession to make."

"Okay," Cisco said, turning around and leaning against the workbench. "Shoot."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Eddie said.

Cisco blinked at him. "That sucks, man."

Eddie huffed out a laugh.

"I honestly can’t believe you’re helping him, Cisco," Eddie said after a few more moments.

"What else am I going to do? Without him there’s… there’s nothing. He’s _right_ , you know. He’s the only person who’s ever believed in _me_ ," Cisco said. "And—"

"He’s _insane_ , Cisco. He’s _wrong_. We love you; he’s a sociopath. He isn’t capable of love. He murdered Nora Allen and Simon Stagg and Mason Bridge and _Harrison Wells_ ," Eddie said. His voice was getting hoarser.

"I can’t," Cisco said. "I can’t, he’d be disappointed in me, and he’s never—"

"Cisco, please. Please stop helping him. He’s going to hurt a lot more people if you help him, you know he is," Eddie pleaded.

"No!" Cisco snapped. "I’m trying to work, Eddie."

He had to get this part done.

* * *

Joe cursed as he jumped off the ladder and saw that Eddie was alone. "I’ve got you," he said, rushing to free Eddie. "It’s okay, partner, I’ve got you."

He kept one arm around Eddie for support as the man staggered to his feet, and surveyed the rest of the room. An unmade bed, a chain secured to the floor.

A workbench.

Half-eaten plates of food, two water-bottles.

A t-shirt that said: "Stand back, I’m going to try SCIENCE" was discarded near the mattress.

"Where’s Cisco?" he forced himself to ask, pushing the reticent words out of his throat.

"Wells—or Thawne or whoever—took him. Said he still needed him, I don’t know," Eddie said, shuddering.

"I am not surprised." Joe bent to check the sheets on the mattress. Disappointingly, there was nothing hidden there. "He’s been planning this for a long, long time."

"You’re going to go after him, right? And rescue Cisco?" Eddie asked, his words spilling out in an almost childlike fervor, like a young Barry when their dog had run away.

"Of course," Joe said. "But you need to get upstairs and get checked out, okay? And Barry will find them."

Iris helped Eddie get up the ladder, and Joe knelt to examine the chain hooked to the floor.

Barry _would_ find him.

***

Barry didn’t find him.

Joe was the only one watching the doors once they had Eobard Thawne locked up so he was the first one to notice Oliver Queen—they really needed to upgrade the building’s security, because it was frankly getting ridiculous—stalking determinedly down the hallway with none other than Cisco Ramon looking small and helpless in his arms.

Joe leaped to open the door, and Oliver nodded his thanks.

"Is he okay?" Joe asked as Oliver set Cisco in his usual chair.

Oliver shrugged. "I knew he was missing," he said, which was hardly helpful, but Joe hadn’t really expected anything more of the murderous vigilante. "He’s not talking," Oliver added before leaving.

Barry opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but the door swung shut behind Oliver before he could decided on anything. Nice guy, real talker. Joe decided to focus on Cisco instead of dwelling on the poor manners of murderers.

Barry followed Joe’s lead, ignoring Oliver and shaking his head before going to Cisco, kneeling down to hug him with the full body press of a brother, nearly dragging the kid from the chair. Cisco gasped a little shuddering breath and wrapped his arms around Barry’s back, and Barry just breathed a tiny "Oh thank God."

Caitlin realized she’d missed something while obsessively checking Ronnie’s and Dr. Stein’s vitals, and when what she was seeing registered, she immediately rushed over to Barry and Cisco and threw her arms around them both, her knuckles white where she clenched her fist in Cisco’s ridiculous t-shirt.

"I’m so sorry," Cisco said, and his voice had the particular roughness that Joe knew meant he’d been crying.

"For what?" Caitlin demanded, and she sounded just as pristine and unruffled as she always did. 

"Don’t apologize for getting kidnapped, Cisco," Joe added with a warm chuckle.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Cisco jerked free of the group hug, staring around and through them for a brief moment, eyes wild and glassy with tears.

"I _can’t_ ," he said on a sob, and then he was gone.

"Well," Caitlin said, wringing her hands and looking at Barry beseechingly, as if to add, _Fix it._

"I’ll go find him," Ronnie said, swinging his legs off the medical table and smiling at them. "Maybe I can figure out what’s going on."

"Ronnie," Caitlin said, grabbing his wrist. "Just... make sure he knows he’s safe, okay?"

"You’ve got it," Ronnie said with a disarming grin that didn’t seem to help as much as he’d hoped.

Joe watched him go and shook his head, heading for the door himself.

"Where are _you_ going?" Barry asked.

"I need to have words with our guest of honor."

Barry made a noise of protest, but he didn’t try to talk Joe out of going, so he left Barry and Caitlin to their worries.

***

"What the hell did you do to that kid?" Joe demanded. Eobard Thawne laughed.

"Nothing that he didn’t _beg_ for, Detective," Thawne replied. "Is it really my fault that no one else recognized his _genius_?"

"Yes," Joe said coldly. "I’ve seen you with them, remember? Caitlin gets the respect, and Cisco gets gold stars like he’s a kid who didn’t even place at a science fair. You’re real careful about that, aren’t you?"

"I have to hand it to you, Joe. You’re a lot better at this than I expected you to be," Thawne said. "I needed him. I may be a scientist, but Cisco Ramon is an _engineer_. And now? Now he is _my_ engineer. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to change that."

Joe slammed a hand into the glass that separated him from the evil man. "I’m damned well gonna prove you wrong, you smug son of a bitch," he snarled before jamming his thumb against the button that would isolate Thawne from the rest of the facility.

He hoped the force-field generator was going to work; Thawne had ruined a lot of lives, and Joe would sleep better knowing that he wasn’t able to do it any more.

* * *

"I have to," Cisco said.

"Okay," Ronnie said, settling down next to him and leaning over his shoulder to peer at the wiring Cisco was prodding.

"Dr. Wells has a plan, and there’s—there’s no way Barry’s going to tell him no. And I have to get this ready."

"Okay," Ronnie said again. Cisco risked a glance up at him, and he didn’t look angry or like he wanted to lock Cisco in the Pipeline or, well anything, really. He looked like… like he was trying to figure out the wiring in the panel Cisco had opened. He even had Cisco’s schematics out and oriented correctly.

"If Barry says yes," Cisco said. " _When_ Barry says yes, _he’ll_ be gone for good, and that’s a good thing."

"Sounds about right," Ronnie said. "Let’s build this thing."

"Ronnie I love you, but this is a time machine, not a bookcase from Ikea," Cisco said, frowning at him. For a second, it was like it had been before the accelerator explosion. Him and Ronnie, building something based on half-an-idea from Dr. Wells and barely legible sketches and schematics Cisco had put together during a sleepless night.

"We’ve got a problem though," Ronnie said, ignoring Cisco’s quip. Probably for the best. "These tiles, they’re made of tungsten. Your schematics are predicting a lot of pressure, which will generate dust. Tungsten dust. _Flammable_ tungsten dust."

"Oh," Cisco said, looking at his schematics. "I didn’t think of that."

"Maybe you should get some rest," Ronnie said, squeezing his shoulder. "I know Caitlin is worried, and so are Barry and Joe."

"I’m not tired," Cisco lied. He had to build this. He had to—Dr. Wells would be gone _forever_ and everything would be okay then.

"Well, at least take a shower," Ronnie said, wrinkling his nose dramatically. "For my sake."

"I… I could probably do that."

"Good. I’m going to go tell Caitlin that you’re alright, okay? Reconvene in an hour with a solution to the Tungsten Issue?"

Cisco managed a wan grin at that. "Sure, okay."

***

Cisco woke some time later in the infirmary, a pulse ox monitor on his finger and an IV catheter in the back of his hand.

"What…" he asked, staring at it.

Eddie looked up from the computer he was frowning at, and Cisco _had_ to sit up at that. That was _his_ terminal.

"Good, you’re awake. Listen, I wanted to let you know that I told them about how Thawne was coercing you into helping him, so everyone knows that. That you didn’t have a choice, I mean."

Cisco groaned and flexed his hand, staring at Eddie. Dr. Stein came in and frowned at Cisco’s terminal next, which was equally weird.

"What’s going on?" Cisco asked, scratching around the tape that held the catheter in place.

"Thawne offered Barry the chance to save his mother’s life, and his father from prison. Ronnie is working on some sort of time machine for Thawne to use, and Barry is visiting Iron Heights."

Cisco nodded. He’d expected most of that.

"And you fell asleep in the showers. Joe got you out and Caitlin diagnosed it as exhaustion and dehydration. She said you’d be going through caffeine withdrawal too, so you should have coffee as soon as you’re feeling up to it."

Cisco was feeling bloated and gross, and not at all like drinking coffee, even though he _was_ getting a headache just behind his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Cisco asked after a few seconds of silence.

Eddie laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh, so Cisco figured that answered his question, and he continued, "Did Ronnie figure out the Tungsten Issue?"

Eddie frowned, "I don’t know," he said. "Dr. Stein?"

"No. As a matter of fact, Ronald is out getting food while he thinks about it. Did you have any insight into the matter?"

"No," Cisco said. "But I know someone who will."

"Cisco," Eddie said, dropping a hand on his knee and squeezing. "You don’t have to do that."

Cisco peeled the tape off the back of his hand. "Yes," he said. "I do. It’s the only way to make sure he can’t hurt any of us ever again."

"Cisco—" Eddie said, but he didn’t finish the statement, instead fumbling some cotton gauze onto the back of Cisco’s hand when it started bleeding. "Do you want back up?"

"No," Cisco said. "I’ve got this."

"Okay," Eddie said.

Cisco passed Iris as he left the room, and he hesitated, staring at her and wondering what all he’d missed.

Didn’t matter; once he solved the Tungsten Issue, Eobard Thawne would be gone _forever_.

***

Cisco’s lips were still tingling from Dr. Wells’s—Thawne’s—goodbye kiss when all hell broke loose, and in spite of _everything_ , he felt a weird, sick sense of relief when he saw that Thawne wasn’t hurt from the time machine blasting apart.

The relief evaporated when Thawne went for Barry, and Cisco froze, not knowing how he wanted this to end.

He opened his mouth to shout… something. An apology, maybe. ‘I’m sorry your time machine broke,’ that might stop Thawne in his tracks, because it wasn’t even remotely his fault Barry had crashed into it at the speed of light.

His voice died in his throat, though, when the gunshot rang out, and…

He _knew_. He had figured it out a few minutes after he’d woken up in that access tunnel with Eddie _Thawne_ tied to a chair and staring at him with pity.

He just didn’t know when _Eddie_ had figured it out, and for some reason that seemed terribly important.

He was only a breath behind Joe in dropping to his knees at Eddie’s side.

"Cisco, help me," Thawne said, voice distorted by the causal impossibility that was eliminating his existence from their point in the timeline. Cisco wondered if the presence of the wormhole in their temporal vicinity would have any adverse effects on the correction of the paradox, then dismissed the thought.

 _He_ was not the theoretical physicist. He fixed stuff that wasn’t broken. Sometimes he tinkered. Occasionally he outright invented. He did not dwell on causality and temporal relationships.

"Eddie," Cisco said. "You weren’t supposed to figure that out, you weren’t supposed to—"

"No such thing as a coincidence," Eddie said, and Cisco had to wonder how long he’d been planning this.

"What did you do, Eddie?!" Joe demanded.

"Eddie's his ancestor," Cisco said. He didn’t feel upset. The blood wasn’t bothering him. If anything, he felt… seasick. "If Eddie dies, _he'll_ never be born. He's being erased from existence."

Iris burst in, then, and Cisco moved aside to let her hold Eddie one last time. "Cisco!" Eddie said, reaching for his hand. "Cisco, I _am_ proud to have known you."

Cisco swayed, and nodded. His hands shook, and he forced himself to go to Thawne.

"I know what’s happening to me," Thawne whispered. He no longer looked like Wells, and parts of him were translucent. The world moved sluggishly around them. "Cisco, _save me_."

"How?" Cisco asked, despite _everything_.

"You can see alternate timelines, different versions of today. The particle accelerator—it affected you too, you must have figured it out. Pick one where Eddie doesn’t die!"

Cisco looked around again, looked at Iris’s tears, barely moving down her cheeks. Joe’s mouth was open, but no sound reached them.

Everything wavered.

Thawne’s hand, translucent, cupped his cheek, and that seasick feeling intensified a thousandfold. Cisco swallowed back his gorge. "It’s your fault. If you’d never kidnapped him, he wouldn’t have figured it out."

"Ah, Cisco," Thawne said. "Always the clever one, aren’t you?" He smiled, and it was nothing like the way he’d smiled when he’d been Dr. Wells. It was predatory, sharp, devoid of feeling, of tenderness. It was real.

Cisco turned his head so he could kiss Thawne’s palm like he had so many times before. But this wasn’t breakfast in a bright, clean kitchen, and Thawne didn’t call him his good boy.

"Save me," he ordered.

"No," Cisco said, pulling away. "Sorry," he added with a wry grin, even though it wasn’t his fault.

Thawne flickered once, twice, disintegrated. _Forever_.

* * *

> Every one of us is running. Being alive means running: running from something, running to something, or someone. And no matter how fast you are, there are some things you can’t outrun. Some things always manage to catch up to you.

"Well, well, well," Leonard Snart’s voice was heavy in Cisco’s ear. Too close, too familiar.

Not familiar enough.

"I’m surprised to see a sweet little thing like you in a place like _this_ ," he continued.

"Go away, Snart," Cisco said, adjusting his grip on his beer. "I’m trying to have a beer and you’re ruining the atmosphere."

"Am I? I can’t help but think that you being _here_ , in _my_ bar, in _my_ part of the city can’t be a coincidence."

 _No such thing as a coincidence_ , Cisco thought, but he didn’t answer. Snart settled himself on the barstool next to Cisco’s and gestured at the bartender.

"So, what’s new with you and your little gang? Sorted out that nasty black hole… thing, I noticed. Good job with that. Very happy to not be so much molecular goo on the bottom of the universe’s shoe."

"Nothing," Cisco said curtly.

"Also, I’d heard you’d been kidnapped. Glad to see that all worked out too," Snart continued, ignoring Cisco’s tone.

The bartender set two lowball glasses in front of them, and Snart took one, nudging the other closer to Cisco.

"Drink up, Cisco," he said. "You look like you could use something a little more exciting than beer."

Cisco glanced up, and Snart caught his gaze, held it. Cisco reached for the glass and took a long sip.

"Good boy," Snart said, and Cisco looked away hurriedly.

"Oh," Snart breathed, wrapping an arm around Cisco and leaning back in so his voice was soft and low and for Cisco’s ears only. "It’s like that, is it?"

Cisco shivered and didn’t reply.

"Well," Snart said. "I think I can work with that, sweetheart."

[ ](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com)


End file.
